


19. Drip

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [19]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Come Eating, Come Inflation, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Big Dick, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Magic, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Non-Human Genitalia, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Public Sex, Roach Has the Brain Cell (The Witcher), Sex Toys, Switch Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: dripGeralt meets a merman, and things go differently than he expects.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 39
Kudos: 411





	19. Drip

**Author's Note:**

> Look.
> 
> I have no excuse for this.
> 
> It all started out with me at the pool, laying around and making sure my kids don't drown each other, thinking about mermaid!Jaskier, and now we're here.
> 
> I obviously don't know how Kinktober works. This was not supposed to end up this long.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this episode of "Human sex ed with Geralt of Rivia", or "Five times Geralt met a merman and one time he didn't".
> 
> Edit March 4th '21: now with a mood board by the lovely [Descarada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descarada/pseuds/Descarada)!

The first time Geralt meets the merman, he's up in Redania on another, entirely unrelated, contract. A cockatrice is said to be nesting in a cave by the sea, which happens to be unpleasantly close to a popular path down to Tretogor, and the alderman of the closest village offered good money to get rid of the beast. Business had been suffering with it so close by, and if there's one thing that will drive people to act, it's the looming loss of money.

Geralt dislikes cockatrices immensely. Nasty little buggers, the lot of them. Still, coin is coin, and he can't afford to be picky about which contracts he accepts. Roach needs to be shod, and he needs new clothes. Summer is fast approaching, with Beltane festivities all across the land, and his thinner shirts are all falling to pieces.

He's making his way down along the coast, on his guard but in a rather good mood, when he hears the singing. It's entirely otherworldly, and he has to think of Sh'eenaz, of her lilting voice and the draw of it, and before he knows it, he has turned Roach down the path leading into a small cove.

There, resting on a large rock poking out of the water, is a merman. At first glance, he looks perfectly ordinary for a merman, but when Geralt looks closer, he can tell he appears more human than he's used to. His hair, both on his head and covering his chest, isn't quite the celadon green Geralt would expect, it's darker, and his skin is fairer. Above the waist, he could almost pass for human. Below it, not so much. His powerful tail is speckled green, like sunlight streaming through a forest's canopy, the fins light and almost translucent.

His face, Geralt thinks, is handsome, with plush lips and a sharp nose. Then Roach snorts, and the merman's eyes fly open.

Those eyes leave absolutely no doubt about his non-humanness. They're blue, bright and shining, like jewels, and Geralt stares.

Then, the merman _smiles_ , apparently unconcerned with the appearance of a human in his little hiding spot. His teeth, Geralt notes, look very sharp.

"Hail and well met, stranger," he says in Elder, his voice melodious and calm. Geralt gives a small bow up on Roach's back. Merfolk are notoriously polite and concerned about a certain etiquette, and it doesn't hurt to be courteous.

"Well met, mylord," he says, his Elder a little clunky, and the merman's smile widens. "I am Geralt of Rivia, and this is my horse, Roach."

"Roach! What a delightful and unusual name! After the fish, I take it?" He flicks his fins lazily, splashing himself with droplets of water that glisten in the sun. It looks far too casual to not be designed to look as appealing as possible.

Geralt must admit it's effective.

"Yes," he says, although he doesn't volunteer that it was merely the first word he'd thought of after buying the first Roach, on account of being pretty hungry at the time and walking past a fishmonger's stall. At least he doesn't just call his horses 'Horse', the way Lambert does.

"I do so _adore_ horses," the merman continues, one hand now reaching down to let his fingers glide through the water. "Such strong beasts," he says, his eyes flickering to Geralt, and his smile sharpens.

Geralt returns the smile, not missing the flash of delight in the merman's eyes when he spots Geralt's own sharp teeth. "Roach is very loyal." He gives her the reins, lets her wander further into the cove to nose at the coarse grass growing there. "Do you watch humans a lot?"

"Hmm," comes the reply, and he rolls over onto his back, his arm over his head, water dripping down from his hand. "Humans are so _fascinating_. Like something from a tale my mother would tell us before she went out on a hunt."

"Humans think the same about your kind," he says, and the merman laughs a trilling laugh.

"Oh, I know. Fairy tales you call it, don't you?" His eyes narrow ever so slightly, his tongue poking out as he thinks, and then he says, "Or should I say, _they_?" The merman sits up, looking at Geralt intently. Geralt's stomach twists at the scrutiny in that inhuman gaze. "You're not entirely human yourself, are you?"

Geralt shakes his head slowly. "No, I'm not."

"What are you then?"

"A Witcher," he says, preparing for the look of disgust, of fear, of anger. Merpeople are generally not something Witchers have to fight, but just by virtue of fighting non-humans, even merpeople don't have a lot of love for his kind.

This merman seems to be an outlier. His eyes widen, and he claps his hands excitedly. "A _Witcher_! Oh, I know! You must be _the_ Witcher, the one who tried to help Sh'eenaz with that ridiculous husband of hers!"

 _Huh_.

"You know Sh'eenaz?"

He waves a dismissive hand. "She's a cousin, I think humans would call it. We're all related in some fashion, I suppose." Then his focus is back entirely on Geralt. "I should've known, with eyes like yours you can't be a simple human." His tail is twitching now, almost restlessly, Geralt thinks. "What brings you here, dear Witcher?"

Something odd twists in Geralt's chest at the endearment, something he doesn't want to name, and so he decides to ignore it. "A cockatrice."

The merman's face twists. "Ugh, horrible little things. They eat all the fish and chase all the humans away. You're here to kill it?"

"Hm."

"Oh, that would be _marvelous_!" His tail twitches again, his fins flicking water in Geralt's direction. "There is some sort of festival just down the coast, you know, and I so enjoy watching the people dance and... _Well_." His cheeks colour, incredibly, and Geralt raises an eyebrow.

"Fuck?"

The merman _giggles_ at that, nodding. "Is that the word? Then yes. I enjoy watching people _fuck_ ," he says with a grin, and Geralt can't help but smile back.

"It's Beltane," he says, "the beginning of summer. People celebrate the circle of life." His smile turns into a bit of a smirk. "There are many children born soon after midwinter."

"Is that how long your women have to carry the eggs?" The merman looks at him with wide eyes, and Geralt has to laugh.

"Humans don't lay eggs. The children are born alive."

"Like a shark's!" He hits the water with his fins in excitement, and Geralt can't look away. He's... quite beautiful, really.

He clears his throat. "Yes, I suppose so." He shifts in Roach's saddle. "Do you watch them every year?"

"Hmm, yes," the merman says, "ever since I was a youngling and could get away with it." He lounges back against the rock again, his tail curling up into the air and water dripping down onto the rock. "It gets so _boring_ down there."

There's a cry from down the coast suddenly, the unmistakable cry of a cockatrice, and Geralt gathers up Roach's reins. "Maybe I'll see you again," he says as he turns her around, thinking at the same time, _Why would I want that?_

The merman smiles, bright and all teeth. "I would like that very much, dear Witcher." There goes that odd twisting sensation in Geralt's chest again, and he swallows it down. The merman slides off the rock, into the water. His hair is plastered to his forehead when he resurfaces, and he tosses his head until he can see clearly again. "My name is Jaskier, by the way. Now go, there's a cockatrice needs killing," he cries with a wave of his hand, and then he disappears beneath the water.

Geralt urges Roach into a trot, then a gallop, a warm, foreign feeling in his chest, and decides to forget all about this strange encounter.

* * *

A year later, Geralt finds himself back in Tretogor, this time entirely without a reason. True, he has been taking contracts that led him steadily northwest, all the way up to the Redanian coast, but there was no plan behind it.

Not a conscious one, anyway.

He's in no hurry to get anywhere, the last couple of contracts all paid well, he has ample supplies, and really, why not visit one of the Beltane celebrations? People aren't exactly more accepting of Witchers at Beltane, but every once in a while, someone will be bold or drunk enough to try their luck with him.

Roach snorts and turns left, and when Geralt looks up, he's back in the little cove.

"Traitor," he tells her as he pats her side.

He slides off her back and ties her reins to a small tree by the entrance to the cove, pulling his waterskin out of the saddle bag. _Might as well_ , he thinks and sits on a flat rock halfway up the beach. It's a pleasant day, there are no pressing engagements, why not just stretch his legs for a moment and give Roach a break?

It hasn't been long at all when there's a splash, and a moment later a trilling cry of, "Witcher!"

He looks up, and there's Jaskier, pulling himself up onto the big rock, grinning widely. There's a seashell necklace around his throat, shimmering little things that make his skin look a little darker, more like other merfolk he has seen, and he looks genuinely pleased to see Geralt.

 _Huh_.

Geralt waves with one hand, and Jaskier curls his tail beneath him, his fins spread out over the rock. "I didn't expect to see you again," he says, fingers stroking along the edge of one of his fins.

"Didn't plan to be here," Geralt says, and Jaskier laughs.

"No, I wouldn't think so. Dreadful business, Witchering, isn't it? So many things that go bump in the night and would like to eat the little children." He rests an elbow on his tail, then his chin in his hand. "The humans can consider themselves lucky," he says, looking at Geralt rather wistfully, and Geralt snorts indelicately.

"They don't, usually. Most are glad to see the back of me."

Jaskier smiles, a hint of pink on his cheeks. "I know the feeling," he mutters, too quiet for anyone without Witcher hearing to understand. "But why? Aren't they grateful that you save them?"

Geralt frowns, looks down at his hands for a moment. "No," he finally replies, "not often."

The merman looks terribly affronted at that, Geralt thinks. It's... _charming_.

"Fools, the lot of them! It can't be easy, fighting against- what was it, a cockatrice? Cockatrices and kikimora and ghouls and all sorts of nasty things. They _should_ be grateful," he huffs, his tail straightening again so he can slap the water with his fins, and Geralt has to smile.

"Witchers don't require gratitude. We do what we were made to do," he says gently, and Jaskier's face softens.

"And that means they can be rude? You risk yourself for them, and for what?"

"Money," Geralt says simply, and Jaskier puffs up his cheeks. Then he slides into the water, smoothly, and a moment later he resurfaces almost directly in front of Geralt. This close, his eyes look even bluer.

"That's stupid," he says, only his head and shoulders peeking out above the water. "You should get something more in return."

Geralt shakes his head and takes a sip from his waterskin, if only to escape the intense blue gaze. "I don't need anything else."

"Ugh," Jaskier says, and then he flops over so he's floating on his back, eyes closed. " _Stubborn_ ," he says, and Geralt hides his smile behind wiping his mouth. After a moment of silence, Jaskier rolls over again, the tip of his tail lifting above the water. The fins really are nearly translucent, the skin so thin that it's hard to believe the power in it. "So are you on another job up here?" Jaskier rests his chin in his hand again as he looks up at Geralt. There's maybe fifteen paces between them.

"No," he replies, and scratches Roach behind the ear as she bumps him with her nose. "I'm between contracts right now."

"Hm, it must be wonderful," Jaskier says, "to travel all over this land." He looks off into the distance, a dreamy look on his face. "Is it true that the land changes? That it's higher than the highest waves in some places?"

Geralt nods. "Mountains, yes."

" _Mountains_ ," Jaskier repeats, voice full of wonder, and Geralt smiles.

"There's forests, with trees that are three times as tall as this cove is long. Other places, there is no water, only sand, for days and days."

"No! You're making fun of me!" Jaskier looks almost angry, Geralt thinks, cheeks flushed like that. "You must think me _very_ gullible, telling me stories like that."

"It's true. Why would I lie?"

Jaskier ponders that for a moment. "I don't know," he says finally, nose scrunched in thought. "Humans are strange like that."

"You forget," Geralt says mildly, "that I'm not human."

The merman rolls his eyes at that. "Sure, sure." He rolls over onto his back again, fins slapping against the shallow water rhythmically. "Would you... would you tell me about some of it? Your travels, I mean?" He cranes his neck so he can look up at Geralt with his blue, blue eyes, and there's that warmth in his chest again.

"What would you like to hear," he hears himself ask, and Jaskier smiles, sunshine bright.

The sun is low on the horizon when Geralt takes his leave. He's hoarse from all the talking, something he hasn't experienced in a long, long time, and he's pleasantly loose and relaxed. Jaskier looks like he feels the same, chin resting on his crossed arms as he watches Geralt put his things back in order again.

"Where will you go," he asks, and Geralt shrugs one shoulder.

"I hear there's a Beltane festival in the next village. Maybe I'll go and have a look."

"Are you going to fuck," Jaskier asks, lifting his head to look at him intently, voice a little breathless, and Geralt turns to Roach and checks her saddle straps.

"Maybe," he says, smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it very pleasant," Jaskier continues, head tilted quizzically, and Geralt wonders for a moment just how old he is. "I sometimes think it must hurt _dreadfully_ , with the sounds the people make. All that grunting and screaming." He makes a face, and Geralt has to work rather hard to keep his face somewhat neutral.

"It's _very_ pleasant," he finally says, "provided you have a willing partner."

"Hmm," Jaskier says, and then he looks, eyes taking in every little detail about Geralt. "Will you find someone willing?"

"Maybe," Geralt says again, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Alright, alright, I understand when someone is _un_ willing."

Geralt huffs a laugh and climbs into the saddle, and Jaskier pushes himself backwards into deeper water.

"I'll probably be here again next year," he says, attempting to sound nonchalant. Geralt sees right through it.

"I'll see if I can be here," he says gently, and Jaskier beams at him, and then he disappears beneath the waves.

Geralt rides out of the cove, smiling softly.

He does not fuck that night.

* * *

The third year - and how odd to think that he started counting their meetings like this - he barely makes it in time. He was injured on his last hunt, slashed across his thigh by a ghoul, and it's healing well but still bothers him. He grits his teeth and bears it anyway.

He made Jaskier a promise, of sorts, after all.

The merman is already waiting for him, up on his rock, but his expression of delight quickly morphs into panic as Geralt slides off of Roach's back and immediately stumbles, his leg throbbing painfully. There's a splash, and then Jaskier is right there, pulling himself right to the water's edge with his hands digging into the sand and his tail pushing him forward.

"Geralt! What happened?"

Geralt drops heavily down into the sand with a grunt. "Injured leg. It's not a problem."

"Oh, is that why you're so pale and look like you might fall over any second?"

They've never been this close, Geralt realises, barely an arm's length between them. Jaskier smells like the ocean, like salt and yes, slightly fishy, but also... pleasing. Familiar.

He grunts again. "It's fine, I just need to change the dressing."

Jaskier looks up at Roach sharply, then leans over and washes the sand from his hands before he turns back to her. "Come here, Roach darling," he says, in perfect Common, with a little Redanian accent, and Geralt stares. "What," Jaskier asks when he notices, and Roach comes over and sniffs at his outstretched hand.

"I didn't know you speak Common," Geralt says, and Jaskier smiles lopsidedly as he scratches Roach's nose.

"We're not supposed to." He reaches up and points at the bags on Roach's saddle in turn until Geralt nods, then pulls that one down. Inside, there are salves and bandages, simple healing potions, and he lets Geralt point out the correct ones. "But I guess there are a lot of things I do that I'm not supposed to."

He gently pushes Geralt to lie back in the sand. It's warm, and the sun is on his face, so Geralt closes his eyes. He shouldn't, he _knows_ he shouldn't. Jaskier isn't human, barely passes for a friend, and he could just grab him and drag him under the water, and in his current state he'd be powerless to stop him.

Jaskier unbuttons his trousers with surprising dexterity, considering merfolk don't wear clothes, and Geralt lifts his hips with a grunt when Jaskier tugs. The hiss coming from the merman tells him his leg is probably much worse than he thought.

"This is infected, Geralt. Why didn't you treat it properly?"

Geralt hums, then sucks in air through his teeth when Jaskier prods at his swollen flesh after removing the old bandage. "Wanted to get here," he murmurs, and Jaskier's hand stills.

"Here... to the festival?"

Geralt pries open his eyes despite the sun, adjusting his pupils so he can look up at Jaskier. He's downright glowing, wet hair glistening in the sunshine. His eyes are wide and so, so blue, his lips parted in surprise.

Geralt wants to kiss him.

"No," he says quietly, "here to you."

Jaskier stares back at him, cheeks colouring. He's even more beautiful that way. Finally he seems to mentally shake himself and turns back to Geralt's leg. "That's- That's good to hear," he says, and he's smiling. Geralt can see his tail twitching nervously.

He sets about cleaning the wound and applying fresh salve, and then his hand is at the back of Geralt's knee, coaxing it up. His skin feels not much different from a human's, a little rougher maybe. It's definitely colder, but not unpleasant.

"You need to take care of yourself," Jaskier says as he wraps a fresh bandage around Geralt's thigh. "I'm flattered of course, but-"

Geralt reaches out and puts a hand on Jaskier's. The merman looks down at it, then back up at Geralt. "It's not flattery," he says quietly.

Jaskier's face runs through a series of emotions, too quickly for Geralt to differentiate. Then he asks, face carefully neutral, "Do you... Do you like me, Geralt?"

"Yes, Jaskier," he replies softly, closing his fingers around Jaskier's, and again he can see his tail twitching. "I like you a lot."

Jaskier makes a seemingly involuntary trilling noise, if the way he slaps his free hand over his mouth is any indication. His eyes are very wide, and his fins slap against the damp sand. Geralt squeezes his hand softly, and Jaskier drops his other from his mouth. He's smiling happily. "I... I like you, too," he says.

They just look at each other for a long moment, Jaskier's cheeks flushing even more. Finally, he seems to remember that he still has a job to do, and tears his eyes away from Geralt's.

"Right, wounded Witcher! Anything in here you can take to help with your leg?" His voice trembles slightly. It's adorable.

"Bottle with the green wax seal," Geralt says, finally closing his eyes again. He's exhausted, all of a sudden, even if that warm feeling in his chest is back, bolstering him.

Jaskier doesn't let go of his hand until he has to, to pry the seal off of the bottle. "Open up," he says gently, and Geralt obeys, letting him pour the rather foul liquid into his mouth. This is always the worst part about getting injured.

His still throbbing thigh aside, Geralt is extremely comfortable, he finds. The sun is warming him and the sand around him, the water gently rolls onto the beach, Roach has wandered off to find some grass, and Jaskier...

Jaskier has taken his hand again, and has laid down on his side next to Geralt. He can feel his damp hair brushing against his forearm.

"Tell me about yourself," he says quietly after a while, and Jaskier squeezes his hand.

"Oh, it's all rather boring to someone as well-traveled as you, I'm afraid." He chuckles, and Geralt hums.

"I have seen different parts of the world than you," he says, "doesn't mean your experiences are boring. I know very little about the ocean." Feeling bold, he adds, "And I like listening to you. You have a beautiful voice."

The merman makes that trilling noise again, cuts it off just as quickly. "You're just saying that because merfolk all have to sound great. It's in our nature."

"I've met a few of your kind," Geralt says quietly. "I know you're different."

Jaskier is quiet for a long moment, so long that Geralt wonders if he offended him. Finally he says, "Yes, I suppose I am." Geralt opens his eyes again and looks down, to where the merman rests on his side, face pillowed on his free hand. He looks up, eyes glittering in the sunlight. "I've always been fascinated by humans. Always wanted to see more of the world than this." He flicks his tail at the water dismissively. "I'm meant for more than just the ocean," he says with conviction, and Geralt can't help but agree.

"Anything in particular in mind?"

Jaskier shrugs. "I just... want to _see_ things. Meet people. Learn, and bring joy to others."

That is indeed very out of the ordinary for a merman, if his experiences with Sh'eenaz and the other merfolk he's met are anything to go by.

"You'd need legs. Give up your tail."

Jaskier scoffs. "That's the easy part." He rolls onto his stomach and props his chin up on his hand. His other is still holding onto Geralt's. "The hard part would be figuring out what to actually do with my life, and then of course telling my _mother_ about it." He shudders, and Geralt has to laugh. "Don't laugh at me! She can be terribly frightening, especially when she's disappointed." He makes a face, and Geralt's smile softens.

He can imagine it, is the thing. Jaskier, with human legs, walking the countryside. He would be an entertainer of some sort, Geralt thinks. An actor, a musician.

"I'd want to sing for people," Jaskier says softly. "I have some human instruments hidden away, and as you so astutely noticed, my voice is good."

"That's not what I said," he interjects, and Jaskier flushes once more.

"Yes, well," he says, tail flicking behind him. "In any case, I'm sure I could make a living like that."

Geralt squeezes his hand again. He's certain of it.

Jaskier tells him more about his family, his mother and a whole gaggle of siblings, which isn't surprising given how merfolk reproduce, and after a while he finds himself drifting, lets Jaskier's voice lull him, and when he opens his eyes again, the sun is significantly lower in the sky.

There's a warm weight on his stomach, and when he looks down, he sees that Jaskier has curled up beside him, his head pillowed on Geralt. His eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, and his breathing is just as slow and even as Geralt's. Asleep, just like Geralt had been, and that warm feeling in his chest is back.

Slowly, Geralt lifts his free hand and reaches, pushes his fingers into Jaskier's hair, ever so gently. It's coarse, fine sand and salt making it so. Jaskier makes a low rumbling noise when Geralt's fingertips graze against his scalp, and then he blinks owlishly up at him. His head pushes into Geralt's hand, like an animal asking to be petted.

Then he yawns, apparently unconcerned with their positions. "I fell asleep," he says, pressing his cheek into Geralt's stomach.

"Hm," Geralt replies, fingers still in his hair. Jaskier still has hold of his other hand, he notices.

"How's the leg?"

Geralt moves it a little, flexes the muscles. It feels infinitely better, barely a twinge of discomfort left. "Much better."

"That's good," Jaskier says softly. Then he sits up and stretches with another yawn, letting go of Geralt's hand. There's sand in the hair on his chest, and Geralt itches to run his fingers through it. Jaskier makes a face then. "I need to get back in the water, I'm afraid."

"That's fine, I should get going anyway."

There's a flash of... _something_ on Jaskier's face. Disappointment, Geralt thinks, and before the merman can pull away, he sits up. They're almost chest to chest like this, and Geralt can hear Jaskier's slow, inhuman heartbeat speed up a little.

"I'll be back next year," he murmurs, and Jaskier smiles.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Then Geralt leans forward, slowly, to give Jaskier time to pull away.

He doesn't.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, and Geralt kisses him.

Jaskier tastes like salt, his skin sun-warmed, his mouth a furnace when he opens up for Geralt's tongue, and his arms wind around Geralt's neck. His teeth are just as sharp as Geralt suspected.

They're both panting when they part, and Jaskier leans close and rests his forehead against Geralt's. "That was my first kiss, you know," he says dreamily, with another of those trilling noises, and Geralt reaches up and places a hand on the back of his neck.

"Really?"

"Hmm. Merfolk don't kiss."

Geralt thought as much. The merfolk he's met never seemed to be the affectionate types. "But you've been watching humans."

Jaskier pulls back a little, licking his lips with another hum. "It's been _very_ instructive."

"I can imagine." He's smiling, he realises, and Jaskier leans in again and returns the kiss. It's a little clumsy, unpracticed, but he gets the hang of it quickly. It's lovely, and Geralt wants to extend the moment, wants more time.

But Jaskier needs to go back into the water, and Geralt pulls back gently, his hand moving from his neck to cup his jaw. "You need to go," he says softly, and Jaskier makes a sound of annoyance.

"I don't _want_ to."

"I know, but I'll come back. I promise," and he presses another soft, closed-mouth kiss to his lips. Jaskier trills again, and then he leans down and pushes his nose against Geralt's throat, inhaling deeply.

"I'll be very cross with you if you don't," he says against his skin, and then he's gone, pushing himself back into the water. He bobs there for a moment, tossing his dripping hair out of his eyes and then, with a last long look, he disappears beneath the waves.

Geralt rises slowly, brushing the sand off of his thighs, then pulls his trousers up and fastens them. Roach snorts behind him, shaking her head at him in a way that means, "Move it, I'm hungry," and Geralt sighs.

"Alright, I'm coming, calm down."

When he rides out of the cove, he can still taste salt on his lips.

* * *

The next year, Geralt makes a decision. Jaskier has talked about the Beltane festivals every single time they've been together, so Geralt made sure to get to the coast early and scout a bit, finding a small village that is close to the water, where he's assured there will be a big celebration. Going by the bonfires that have been prepared all along the beach, he believes it.

Just like last year, Jaskier is waiting for him already, on the beach instead of his rock this time. He's wearing pearls, in his hair and around his throat, and Geralt dismounts and goes to kneel by him. Jaskier is making his happy noise again, reaching for Geralt, and he lets himself be pulled into a very enthusiastic kiss. Jaskier's hands go into his hair, and he hums against Geralt's lips.

"I take it you missed me," Geralt says when Jaskier lets him come up for air, and the merman flushes a little.

"And what of it? You're..." He hesitates, then says, "a good friend," and Geralt suspects he was going to say something else. He lets it slide.

"I have a surprise," he says instead, and Jaskier's eyes widen.

"A surprise? Where? What is it?" He looks to Roach, who has her nose in a patch of bentgrass and is studiously ignoring them. "Is it in your bags?"

"No," Geralt says with a chuckle. "It's not a thing. I'd like to show you something." Jaskier lifts an eyebrow, and Geralt continues. "There's a village not far from here. We could watch the Beltane festival. Together."

Again, Jaskier's eyes widen, and his lips part in surprise. "But- That's- Oh, that would be _marvelous_!" He all but throws himself into Geralt's arms, and in his enthusiasm, his sharp teeth catch on Geralt's bottom lip. There's the taste of blood, and Geralt moans into the kiss.

Jaskier pulls back and stares at him, eyes glittering. "You _liked_ that," he says, voice filled with wonder, and when Geralt nods, his fingers tangling in Jaskier's hair, the merman kisses him again, now nipping carefully at Geralt's lips every so often.

"We should get going," he gasps when Jaskier has moved on from his mouth and is nibbling at his jaw instead, "it'll take me some time to get there along the coast."

The merman pulls back, visibly reluctant. "Oh, alright, if we must." He huffs, then claps his hand. "Oh, you must tell me what it's actually about!"

They make their way down the coast, Geralt guiding Roach as close to the water as he can and Jaskier sticking close to the beach in turn, until they reach the village. The sun is setting, painting long shadows onto the sand, and Geralt fastens Roach's reins to a tree before he takes the spare horse blanket he keeps for emergencies and walks back down to the beach. Jaskier is lying on his stomach, ducking down a little so he's not as easily spotted, the tip of his tail and his fins still in the water, twitching in his excitement.

Geralt spreads the blanket beside him and sits cross legged, and Jaskier rolls over and leans his head against his thigh. "Thank you," he murmurs, eyes closing as Geralt runs his fingers through his damp hair. "Watching on my own was... good, but this is so much better." He opens his eyes again, and even in the dusk, they are bright.

As they wait for night to fall and the fires to be lit, Geralt explains about May day, about the rituals and the bonfires, about the connection to growth and fertility.

"Is that why people fuck outside?" Jaskier has pushed himself further onto the beach, until his head is fully in Geralt's lap, and now he has a small crease between his eyebrows, confused.

"Part of it. People drink on occasions like this. Alcohol. It lowers their inhibitions, and they'll do things they might not otherwise. Fucking a stranger behind some bush usually falls into that category."

Jaskier's frown grows deeper. "How do people pick who they want to fuck? Is it very different from how we pick a mate?"

Geralt smiles gently, and strokes his thumb along the line of Jaskier's cheekbone. "There's a difference between finding someone to fuck, and finding someone to... to _be_ with." He feels somewhat unqualified to explain this, but he's the only one who will explain it to Jaskier. "Humans are weak," he says, "and children need care for many, many years before they are self sufficient. Most parents stay together for life. Some even because they..." Jaskier is looking up at him with those wide blue eyes, pink tongue poking out between his lips, and Geralt swallows. "Because they love one another."

"Oh," Jaskier says, a flush rising in his cheeks, and he's not looking away. Geralt could drown in that gaze, let himself be pulled under like under the waves, never to resurface. It's a dangerous thought. "How terribly romantic," the merman continues dreamily, and Geralt huffs a laugh.

"Sometimes, yes."

"Do... Do you have someone like that? A woman to bear your children and raise them with you?" Now Jaskier's eyes flicker around nervously, and Geralt ignores the familiar pang in his chest.

"No," he says quietly. "That's not something Witchers can have." He looks at the ocean then, at the waves gently lapping at the shore, at Jaskier's fins. "All Witchers are barren," he continues, and Jaskier turns his head, buries his face in his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he says gently, and Geralt strokes his hair.

"It's fine. I don't think I would make a good father anyway." Jaskier makes an unintelligible noise of protest at that, but Geralt ignores it.

They sit in silence for a while then, with Jaskier still in his lap, until people appear on the beach, far enough away from the two of them to go unnoticed in the dark. There is a whole lot of talking that Geralt ignores, prayers and ritualistic bullshit, and instead he focuses on Jaskier.

He looks... incredibly young, Geralt thinks. He knows merfolk age differently, slower even than Witchers. There's no telling how old Jaskier is based on appearances. He could be older than Geralt for all he knows, but the expression on his face speaks of his inexperience with the world beyond his ocean. He's watching, mesmerised, ducking down again to hide even as he visibly fights against his curiosity.

"They're thanking the goddess Melitele," Geralt murmurs, "a goddess of fertility and nature, peace and love. They're asking her to bless them, to give them healthy children and easy births, to make the soil fertile and grant them good harvests."

"That's a lot to ask of one goddess," Jaskier murmurs, transfixed as someone approaches the mounds of dry wood with a torch, and Geralt chuckles.

"I suppose it is. Now, watch."

The wood is dry and cracking and goes up in flames at the first touch of the torch. The crowd roars along with the flames, and Jaskier's eyes grow wide.

"The fire is meant to drive out evil spirits. Ghosts and demons."

"Does it work?"

"Not usually."

Music starts up from somewhere, and soon Jaskier is swaying with it, eyes closed and a smile on his lips. The fire paints dramatic shadows onto his face, and Geralt leans in and kisses him.

Jaskier hums, and when Geralt's hand slides into his hair, he pushes into it. Geralt's fingers tighten reflexively, and Jaskier moans. It's a great sound, so Geralt does it again, pulling gently, and the merman twitches and gasps, " _Geralt_ -"

Geralt pulls back slightly. Jaskier is flushed, lips parted and eyes slightly glassy, and it wakes something in Geralt. A hunger, one that catches him entirely off guard, which, considering he's spent a significant part of their acquaintance kissing Jaskier, should really not surprise him this much.

Up the beach, people are dancing now, laughter drifting over to them. Geralt can already hear people sneaking off into the dunes, in twos and threes, and he lets go of Jaskier's hair. The merman's eyelids flutter when he cups his jaw and kisses him once more, gently, softly.

"Someone's coming," he murmurs against Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier asks, in a low, trembling voice, "Are they going to fuck?"

Geralt snorts a laugh, rests his forehead against Jaskier's. "Probably," he says, and Jaskier bumps his nose against Geralt's.

"I'll need you to... explain things," he says quietly, and Geralt pulls back. "The way merfolk mate is... different. Quicker. I often don't understand what people are doing, or why." He looks at Geralt with half-lidded eyes, and there's a hot surge of desire in Geralt's chest.

The people coming down the beach turn out to be a young couple, giggling as they stumble a little in the soft sand, hands linked. He is clean shaven, probably for the celebration, with a mop of straight black hair, wide shoulders, a stocky build. She looks a bit older, if only by a few years, with a plump face and the body to match, hair tightly curled and a red that catches every stray bit of fire light. One of them brought a blanket, and they spread it out maybe twenty yards from where Geralt and Jaskier are hidden, then sink down on it in each other's arms, lips meeting with that Beltane (and alcohol) fueled desperation.

Jaskier is transfixed. He watches intently as the two remove their clothes, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "Humans all look so different under their clothes," he murmurs, and Geralt doesn't miss the way his eyes flicker over to him for a second, curiosity plain on his face. He hums, and nods back at the two.

The woman is between the man's splayed thighs, her back against his chest, and his hands are busy. One is cupping her breast, fingers teasing at the nipple, and the other is touching her between her legs. She, in turn, has one hand reaching back, holding onto the back of his neck, and the other is digging into his thigh as he strokes her. Her gasps and moans are quiet, but loud enough to carry over to them, for non-human ears to hear.

"What is he _doing_?" Jaskier's eyes are wide, glued to the hand between the woman's legs, and Geralt moves to lay on his stomach beside him.

"Women make their own fluids, to make fucking easier, but you need to coax it out first. Without it, it hurts them." The man has two fingers inside her now, Geralt can tell, thumb rubbing over her clit, and she's humming in pleasure. "There's a spot, just above their cunts. Touching it feels... really good for them," he says quietly, and as if on cue, the woman cries out, her back arching, and Jaskier gasps.

"Does it _really_ ," he asks, still staring. "Why do they always sound like they're in pain?"

"It's overwhelming," he explains, "in the same way that pain can be."

They watch as the woman bats the man's hand away before turning over in his arms, kissing him hotly. They're talking, filthy whispers that fuel the heat in Geralt's veins, and he leans closer to Jaskier without even noticing.

The woman pushes the man (Marek, she calls him) down onto his back, and Jaskier gasps when she straddles his head, thighs on either side, her hands splayed across his chest and stomach. The fire light makes her fair skin glow in the darkness, like a beacon.

"What- Why is she- Doesn't he need to _breathe_?" Jaskier turns to look at him, so confused, and Geralt smiles.

"Women like it when someone licks their cunts," he says, and Jaskier's eyes widen ever so slightly.

"Oh," he says, tail twitching behind them, and then he goes back to watching.

Marek seems to be good at what he's doing, for the woman's head is thrown back, jaw slack and eyes closed. She rocks her hips against his face ever so slightly, and Geralt can hear her heart beat ever faster, the scent of their arousal wafting over to him. It's intoxicating.

Finally, she starts to whimper, little noises that have Jaskier biting his lip, and then she's coming, back arching as she cries out. Marek is holding her in place, his fingers digging into her thighs as she shudders and twitches, and finally she gasps, "Stop, _stop_ , let me-" and then she tips forward onto her hands and knees.

He can hear Marek's gasp, " _Anka, please_ ," as she takes hold of his cock, and Geralt can almost feel the groan he presses into her flesh when she takes his cock into her mouth.

Jaskier, he notices, is gaping at them, wide-eyed. "I... Geralt, I don't _understand_. What is the purpose of this? How is he going to fertilise her eggs like this?"

It's only long practice that keeps the snort of surprise inside his mouth. Instead, his lips tilt into a smirk. "That comes later," he says, "this is just for pleasure."

"Oh," Jaskier says, faintly.

"A mouth feels different than a cunt or arse," Geralt explains, and Jaskier sucks in a breath. "When you're sucking someone's cock, you have more control, about the pressure, the speed. It can be even better than actually fucking."

Jaskier's cheeks and throat are flushed dark, and he swallows heavily. "That- That sounds nice."

Marek, meanwhile, has his fingers back in Anka, and she's moaning around his cock like she's being paid for it. Geralt can feel himself grow hard at the noises and scents, and the fact that Jaskier is so close, so taken with what's happening, certainly isn't helping.

The couple only holds out another moment, before Anka lets his cock slip from her mouth to slap wetly against his belly. "Inside, now, now, please," and Marek lifts her off of him and tosses her onto the blanket. She squeals, then moans as he crawls between her legs, and Geralt knows the moment he pushes into her by the little hitch in her breathing.

Jaskier rises up on his elbows, trying to get a better look, and Geralt pulls him down again with a smile, one hand on his neck. Then he leans over, until their shoulders brush against each other.

"There's nothing like sliding into a hot, wet hole," he says, voice low, and Jaskier shudders under his hand, his tail flicking droplets of water over them both. "Look at his face."

Jaskier does. Marek's brow is furrowed, his teeth bared as he fucks Anka, with long, measured thrusts. He looks like he's barely holding back, like all he wants to do is plow her into the sand, but he's too focused on her pleasure to do that. Anka makes the sweetest noises, soft gasps and throaty moans, and then she slides her fingers into his hair. Marek's face relaxes, like a cat being petted, and Anka says something, too quietly even for Geralt and Jaskier to hear. Marek jolts, his whole body, and then he grabs her by the hips and just lets loose. Anka's moans turn into cries as he fucks her relentlessly, and she shoves her fist into her mouth to muffle them.

"He's hurting her," Jaskier says breathlessly, and Geralt, realising his hand is still on his neck, squeezes. The pearls brush against his fingers, warmed by Jaskier's skin.

"It's the best kind of hurt," he says, and a moment later Anka gives a high, girlish scream as her body goes rigid, her legs clamped around Marek's waist, and it only takes a few more thrusts until he groans, a sound like a wounded beast, and then collapses on top of her.

Jaskier is breathing hard, Geralt realises, his hands grabbing the edge of the horse blanket so tightly his knuckles go white.

Anka and Marek roll apart after a while, making happy post-coital noises. Geralt is hard, uncomfortably so against the sand beneath him, and he shifts slightly to alleviate the pressure. The two humans stay only a little while longer, pulling their clothes on a bit haphazardly and interrupted by many slow, lingering kisses, until they leave, blanket bunched under Marek's arm.

Jaskier watches them go with a slow, stuttering sigh. "Is it going to catch?"

It takes Geralt a moment to understand, and he shrugs. "Maybe. I don't think that was their goal."

Frowning, Jaskier turns back to him. Geralt realises his hand is still on him, and he pulls away. "But if they don't want children, then why?"

Geralt cocks an eyebrow. "You saw how good they felt, didn't you?" Jaskier nods, and Geralt can see understanding dawn in his eyes.

"They... Humans fuck for pleasure? Not just... for offspring?"

"Yes."

Jaskier is quiet for a long moment, head turned back to watch the dancers. Then, after a while, he says, "Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"I... I'd like to suck your cock."

Geralt's heart does _not_ skip a beat, but he feels like it should. His cock throbs, in any case. "Jaskier..."

"I know I probably won't be any good at it," he says, as though Geralt hasn't spoken at all. He's not looking at him, eyes still on the bonfires instead. "But I don't have a cunt or arse for you to fuck," and this is the point where Geralt thinks he might be hallucinating, "and I want to make you feel good. So my mouth it is."

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, until Jaskier looks at him from the corner of his eye. "You- You don't have to-"

"But I want to, didn't you hear?" He turns his head and looks at him, bites his lip. "If you don't want it, that's fine." He doesn't sound like it would be fine.

The problem is that Geralt has never wanted anything more. He's just not sure that he _should_. Jaskier is so inexperienced, so... innocent, and it feels like taking advantage.

"Jaskier, have you ever done anything like this before," he asks, trying to ignore the way his heart is beating faster, closer to a human's. Jaskier shrugs one shoulder.

"My friends and I play-mate from time to time, but... That's different. I've never actually mated anyone," and he tosses his head, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "I'd like to try, Geralt," he says softly, looking up at him from beneath his lashes. "You... you mean a lot to me, and I want to make you feel good." He licks his lips. "Please, Geralt," and Geralt's resolve crumbles like a sandcastle.

"Alright," he says faintly, and Jaskier beams at him. He's in Geralt's face all of a sudden, kissing him hungrily, teeth nipping at his lip, and then he pushes Geralt over onto his back. It takes him surprisingly little effort, and Geralt is reminded that, despite his pretty face and his speech, he's not actually human.

Jaskier moves on from kissing him then, fingers going to the buttons of Geralt's trousers. His cock strains against the fabric, and Jaskier skims the tips of his fingers over it before pulling the fabric away. " _Oooh_ ," he coos, eyes wide, "it's pretty!"

Geralt laughs, but it dies in his throat when Jaskier takes hold of him, wrapping cool fingers around his base. "Fuck," he groans as Jaskier strokes him experimentally, and he closes his eyes. "Jaskier, I-"

Jaskier's mouth closes around the head of his cock, and his words turn into a garbled mess.

The merman has little skill with this, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. He tries everything he can think of: licking Geralt from root to tip, sucking along the sides, just the head, experiments with how deep into his mouth he can take Geralt. The answer to that is, all the way, it turns out when his nose is pressed into the wiry hair at Geralt's base, and Geralt's eyes cross a little. It's all just on this side of too much.

" _Jaskier_ ," he groans again, then adds, "fuck, you feel so good," and Jaskier, the little shit, makes his happy little trilling noise, and Geralt's hips arch off the ground, driving himself even deeper down Jaskier's throat. He's so close, _so fucking close_ , and he tells Jaskier as much, "Jask, I'm gonna- you don't have to-"

Jaskier looks up at him with those blue, blue eyes and does something interesting with his tongue, and Geralt spills with a muffled shout.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks as he lies there, panting and staring up at the stars above them. _Fuck_.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, "I should've warned you, you didn't have to-"

Jaskier is sitting up, and Geralt's seed is dripping out of his mouth into his open palm, a look of pure delight and fascination on his face. Geralt's cock gives a valiant twitch of interest.

" _Jaskier_ ," he says, and the merman looks up at him. There are droplets of spend on his lips, on his chin, and then he brings his hand to his mouth and laps at it, and Geralt growls, deep in his chest.

"It's so much thicker than mine," Jaskier says and licks his lips, smiling dreamily. "Tastes like the sea."

Geralt can only sit there, staring, as Jaskier licks his hand clean. He's never been particularly... _attached_ to his come, or concerned with where it ends up, but watching Jaskier so shamelessly lick all of it up... That _does_ something to him.

Finally, Jaskier is done and looks at him again. "Did I do alright," he asks, and Geralt surges up and kisses him, hard and a touch desperate.

"You did great," he says between kisses, breathlessly, and Jaskier hums against his lips. "Let me return the favour," he asks, surprising himself, and Jaskier makes a wounded sort of noise.

"Please, _oh, please_ ," he gasps, and Geralt cups his face and bites at his lip. Jaskier shakes, hands fisted in Geralt's shirt.

"You'll have to show me," he murmurs, and Jaskier breathes shudderingly.

"Alright," and he pulls away slightly, rolls onto his back. Geralt is once more struck with the beauty of him, by his flushed cheeks and shining eyes, the pure, animalistic strength in his tail. His nipples are dark, with an odd green tint just like his hair, and Geralt reaches down and strokes a thumb over one of them. " _Geralt_ ," Jaskier groans, and arches, his fins slapping against the water.

There's a slit, Geralt notices, on the front of Jaskier's tail, and when he reaches down and strokes his fingers along the edge of it, Jaskier gives a little cry.

So Geralt does it again, and again.

"Stop, please, I need to-" Jaskier gasps, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and Geralt pulls his hand away. "I just, I need a moment," he says, then takes Geralt's hand and guides it back to his slit. His breath catches as he holds Geralt's hand there.

Geralt thinks he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears when Jaskier's cock appears. It's... nothing like a human cock. It's pointed at the tip, then flares quickly until it's almost as thick around as his wrist. It's also long, nearly as long as his forearm, he thinks.

There's a sudden hunger inside of him, one he didn't think possible.

Jaskier is trembling beside him, making little whimpering noises, and Geralt can't tear his eyes away from his cock. "Can I...," he asks, voice like gravel. His fingers twitch where Jaskier is still holding onto them.

" _Please_ ," the merman says, and it comes out in a whine.

Touching Jaskier's cock feels monumental in a way Geralt can't fathom. It's like something inside him shifts, and he's helpless to stop it. He closes his fingers around the tip, and Jaskier makes a choking noise. He's so hot, he's burning in Geralt's hand, and when Geralt strokes him, Jaskier gasps.

"Geralt," he says, breathlessly, and Geralt repeats the motion, just to hear Jaskier say his name like that again.

It doesn't last long. Jaskier is whimpering, _begging_ , and when Geralt runs the pad of his thumb over the tip, Jaskier buries his fingers in his own hair and pulls. His pearls go flying, spilling onto the blanket and into the sand, and he's gasping, "Oh, oh gods, _Geraltgeraltgeralt_ , I'll-"

His back arches and he screams, a sound that is high and entirely inhuman, so loud it carries to the celebration, and if Geralt had the wherewithal to pay attention, he'd know the people there heard it, wondering. As it is, he's staring, at the almost clear fluid spurting from Jaskier's cock over his hand as Jaskier's cry turns to sobs.

"Fuck, Jaskier," he breathes, and releases him.

The merman is still twitching, his eyes closed and mouth open in a perfect little O. He hums happily and pries open his eyes, watching Geralt sleepily from beneath heavy lids, and before Geralt can think better of it, he brings his hand to his mouth and licks at the spend dripping from his fingers.

Jaskier sucks in a breath, and Geralt closes his eyes against the onslaught of emotions in his eyes, concentrates on what he's doing instead. Jaskier's seed is thinner, just like he'd said, more watery. The taste isn't much different, salty and slightly bitter, and Geralt finds himself mirroring Jaskier's earlier action, not stopping until his hand is clean. Only then does he look at Jaskier again.

The merman is watching him with wide eyes, lip caught between his teeth. "That was _definitely_ not like any play-mating I've ever done," he says after a moment, and Geralt lays down on the blanket beside him.

They kiss, then, lazily, each tasting of the other, arms around each other, and it stokes the warm feeling in Geralt's chest. It's dangerous, _so dangerous_ , and it goes against everything he was ever taught.

The fires have burned low by the time Jaskier makes a displeased noise. "I have to go, dear," he murmurs, and Geralt is so relaxed and loose-limbed that he almost misses the endearment.

"Jask," he breathes, and the merman nuzzles against his throat.

"Will you come back?" _Back to me_ , goes unsaid, but Geralt can read between the lines.

"Of course," he says, kisses the top of Jaskier's head, and Jaskier trills against his collarbone.

"I shall miss you terribly," he says, then lifts himself onto his elbows so he can look down at Geralt. "Goodbye, dear heart," he breathes against Geralt's lips, and then he's gone.

Geralt lays there for a long time, staring up at the stars, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

* * *

The following year is a bit hazy and a blur both at once. He takes contracts, as usual, but he's distracted. Preoccupied.

The thing is, Geralt has never been fucked, a fact he only ever discussed with Yennefer, one heady night in the little bedroom over her shop in Vengerberg. She'd told him about her dalliances with other sorceresses, no doubt trying to make him jealous, and he'd let slip that, jerking each other off back in Kaer Morhen when they were boys notwithstanding, he'd never been with a man.

Yennefer had laughed, clearly not believing him. He'd asked why, and Yen tilted her head, regarding him for a long moment, and then she'd said, "I don't know. You just give off a certain _energy_."

Geralt had grumbled and said, "Fuck you," and Yen had bared her teeth at him and said, "Fuck me yourself, you coward," and Geralt always liked a challenge.

In any case, he's never had more than his own finger up his arse, and he never had any desire for that to change.

Until now, that is.

Because ever since that night on the beach with Jaskier, he's been unable to get the memory of Jaskier's cock out of his mind. The way it looked, felt, how he'd tasted... It's driving him to distraction, and soon one finger while he's jerking off becomes three, and the next time he's in Vengerberg, he asks Yen for a glamour.

"Witcher business," she asks, one eyebrow cocked because she knows how much he despises duplicity like this, and he shrugs.

"Something of the sort." He keeps a tight, tight lid on his thoughts, staring her down, and Yen rolls her eyes and waves him off.

Oxenfurt is a place he usually avoids like the plague, with all its intrigue and colours and noise, but it's the place to go if you need something... _unusual_ , and what Geralt wants is definitely that. He finds the little shop, draped in his glamour to look unassuming and human, and is more than a little shocked to find the proprietor is a short elderly woman chewing on a pipe.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?"

There's a wooden cock on the shelf just behind her, tapered at the end and flared at the base, and it's as wide around as his fist. He has to consciously drag his eyes away from it. The woman is smirking knowingly at him, and he clears his throat and hands her the crude sketch he's drawn.

Unnervingly, her eyebrows rise, and she sucks her teeth for a moment. "I can make you something like this, but it'll take a few days. You'll have to come back."

And so Geralt spends three days holed up in a brothel, because if there's one thing Oxenfurt has going for it, it's that the people selling sex there are very accommodating even of Witchers.

When he returns to the shop, glamour back in place, the woman greets him with a grin. "Success," she crows and pushes the wooden chest sitting on the counter before her towards him.

Geralt opens the lid, and stares.

"You'll have to take it slow," she says. "I know you think you'll be able to take it, but even someone like you needs to be careful with this."

His eyes snap up to her face, and she taps the tip of her nose with a finger. "You know-"

"Mage, darling. That's a powerful glamour you have there, but I'll always be able to sniff out a Witcher."

Geralt would very much like to die.

"In any case," she continues, as though he isn't having a medium sized existential crisis right in front of her, "I don't judge." She waves at the shelves, all lined with phalluses of all shapes and sizes. "If I did, I'd have to close up shop, and where would that leave the fine people of the continent?" She actually winks at him then, and Geralt has to smile.

"Thank you," he says, "what do I owe you?"

The answer is 'a shit ton of money', but he swallows his discomfort with spending so much on an indulgence and pays. The woman smirks and pockets the coins, then reaches under the counter. Her hands come back with another wooden chest, this one smaller, and a bottle of oil.

"On the house," she says with another wink, then explains to him how to care for his purchase before sending him on his way, and Geralt leaves feeling a strange sort of kinship with the old enchantress.

He doesn't open the second chest until he's out of the city, and he swallows drily. It's a whole set of those strange flared wooden cocks, the smallest barely larger than his thumb, and the biggest... _Well_.

Both chests sit in the bottom of his saddle bag for a long time after this, contracts suddenly popping up everywhere, and it's not until the winter, when he's back in his room in Kaer Morhen, that he pulls them out. His door is locked and he briefly considers pushing furniture in front of it as well, then feels utterly ridiculous. There's an unspoken rule amongst the wolves that nobody bothers the others when they're very obviously jerking off unless the keep is literally on fire, and he takes a deep breath.

He should probably start small. Three of his own fingers is not insubstantial, but still.

He also has no patience, not when it comes to this. More than once these past months, Geralt considered going back to the coast, to see Jaskier again, but he has no idea if he'd be anywhere near the cove, and so waiting for Beltane is his only option.

Well. That, and this.

The... phallus is made of rubber, he thinks, or something like it. It's clearly enchanted, his medallion humming faintly where it rests against his chest, although he has no idea what that enchantment could be for. The thought of putting an unknown enchantment up his arse should make him run for the hills, really, but. He's too hungry for it, too _desperate_.

He rushes through opening himself up, gritting his teeth against the sting. Briefly, Geralt considers giving the flared ones a try first, but then his gaze snags on the other one, and he thinks of the way Jaskier had felt in his hand, and it's decided.

Geralt is ridiculously hard, leaking onto his stomach as he lays on his back, thighs spread wide, and he has to bite his lip to keep in his whimper as he pushes the phallus into himself. It's surprisingly warm, and it's _so much_ , and by the time he has half of it inside of him, he's a sweaty, trembling mess.

He thinks about Jaskier, imagines the way he'd look up at him with his blue, blue eyes as Geralt rode him, and then he's coming all over himself, the strength of his orgasm knocking all the breath out of him.

When he pulls the phallus free, he realises with a start what the enchantment was - he's _wet_ , clear fluid leaking copiously from his arse, and he shivers.

After, he stares up at the ceiling, wishing Jaskier was here, in his arms, and realises that he's in love.

" _Fuck_ ," he tells the room at large.

When April comes around, Geralt makes his way to the little village where they had watched the bonfire. He stables Roach there, making an apologetic noise at her when she bumps him with her nose as he turns to leave.

"It's just for a couple of days," he tells her, and she snorts and turns her back on him.

It's an hour's walk to the cove, and Geralt reaches it shortly before noon. He has his saddlebag with him, a bed roll and food, and, in the bottom of the bag, his bottle of oil.

Jaskier is waiting for him once more, lounging in the sun on his rock. He doesn't notice Geralt at first, appearing to be asleep, and the Witcher takes the opportunity to _look_.

The merman's hair has gotten longer, brushing against his jaw, and he's wearing an actual flower crown today, made of pinks and heather.

He steps on a piece of driftwood, and Jaskier's eyes fly open, face breaking into a happy grin when he spots Geralt. He's off his rock and in the water in a flash, and Geralt drops his things into the sand and kicks off his boots, wades into the water, and then his arms are full of wet, wriggling merman, and he's _so fucking happy._

Jaskier kisses him, hungry and artlessly. "Oh, it's been too long," he gasps against Geralt's lips, and Geralt chuckles and cups the back of Jaskier's head with his palm.

"It's been exactly as long as the last time," he rumbles, and Jaskier swats at his shoulder.

"Yes, but it _feels_ like it was longer." He huffs, then looks over at the beach. "What's all that then? And where's Roach?"

"Hm," he says and leans forward, pushes his nose into Jaskier's hair. "I thought I could maybe stay for a while. A few days."

Jaskier pulls back and stares at him, and then he smiles so brightly. "Oh, that would be _wonderful_ ," he breathes and then he's kissing Geralt again and Geralt feels all the tension drain out of him.

He peels off his wet clothes at some point, leaving him in just his braies, and Jaskier plasters himself to his chest.

"Look at you," he murmurs, and his hands are everywhere, fingers sliding through the fine hair on Geralt's chest. "You must tell me about these," and he drags a fingertip over one of the scars littering his stomach.

"They're gruesome stories, I'm afraid." They're lying at the edge of the water, waves lapping gently at them.

"Oh, I don't mind gruesome. You should see my mother and sisters, your skin is practically _pristine_ compared to them."

"Hm," Geralt says, and changes the subject. "You told me you had human instruments. What was that about?"

Jaskier flushes adorably and reaches up to fiddle with the chain of Geralt's medallion. "I... found them," he says. "They're not in very good condition but they work well enough." He sits up, the sun behind him making a halo of his flower crown. "I could... I could show you?"

"Please," Geralt replies.

Jaskier leads him to a small cave not far away. It's filled with... _stuff_ , to put it bluntly. All sorts of random human trinkets, from a fork to an actual painting, and in place of honour, a lute. It's in surprisingly good condition, actually, considering it's being stored in a cave by the sea, and Jaskier heaves himself onto a rocky outcropping and pulls the instrument into his lap.

"This one's my favourite," he says softly, looking up at Geralt with a hopeful expression.

"It's called a lute," he explains and sits down on the rocks next to the merman.

"A lute," Jaskier says, holding the instrument almost reverently. Then he strums his fingers along the strings, takes a deep breath, and _sings_.

Geralt is helpless. He can't even explain it away with magic, merfolk aren't sirens who bewitch humans. No, it's all Jaskier, and his beautiful, otherworldly voice, and when he finishes, Geralt reaches out and cups his jaw and kisses him.

"I take it you liked it," Jaskier says, huffing a laugh, and instead of answering, Geralt kisses him harder.

They spend the day lazing about on the beach for the most part after that, just trading stories and gentle kisses. Jaskier is delighted to learn that Geralt can see pretty well underwater and can hold his breath for about five minutes, and he all but drags him into the water to show him more of the cove. His delight at getting to share part of his world with Geralt makes the warmth in his chest spread, all the way to his fingertips, and when they resurface, he winds his legs around Jaskier, trusting him to keep him above the water.

"I want you," he rasps against Jaskier's lips, and the merman pushes Geralt against his rock.

"Is that so," he asks, voice light as he traps Geralt there. _Fuck_ , but he's strong. "Did you... think about me, while you were away?" There's a sudden heat in his eyes, and Geralt grows hard dizzyingly quickly.

"Fuck, yes, so often," he says, head thrown back against the rock, and Jaskier leans in and kisses up the line of his throat.

"So did I, dear heart," he says, and then there's the hint of teeth at Geralt's throat, and something in him breaks. He thinks it may have been the remains of his self control.

"I want you to fuck me," he blurts, and Jaskier stills against him.

"You... You don't mean that," he says, voice wavering ever so slightly. "I'm not- I couldn't-"

" _Jaskier_ ," he breathes, heat pooling in his stomach, and Jaskier looks up at him with wide eyes. "I mean it. I've been thinking about it all year."

"Oh," Jaskier says, quietly, then nibbles on his lower lip. "But I'm... I don't want to hurt you, Geralt."

"You won't," he says, then adds, "I need to show you something."

Jaskier takes him back to the beach, and Geralt takes a deep breath and pulls off his braies. There, nestled between his cheeks, is one of the plugs (because that's what the wooden things had turned out to be) he got in Oxenfurt.

"What... What _is_ that?" Jaskier sounds awestruck, and he reaches out a hand, twitching it back just before he touches. "Why-"

"It's a plug," Geralt says quietly, and if he could, he would blush. "To prepare me." He looks meaningfully at Jaskier, tries to make him understand.

"Oh, _dear_ Witcher," Jaskier says, awestruck.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Jaskier heaves himself up onto the beach and pulls Geralt on top of him, and they spend a long time kissing. It's as close to perfect as Geralt has ever gotten. Then Jaskier reaches, slides a hand over Geralt's back, over the swell of his arse and between his cheeks. He pushes against the plug gently and Geralt gasps against his collarbone, and Jaskier makes a soft noise in response.

Jaskier works the plug free with a patience Geralt would've thought him incapable of. He appreciates it very much, given how long he's had the thing up his arse already. When it finally pops out, he buries his face in Jaskier's throat and bites his lip so hard he draws blood.

"Gods," Jaskier breathes, holding the plug up, his eyes wide. "How does it _fit_?"

"With a lot of oil, and time," Geralt wheezes, and Jaskier deposits the plug on the blanket beside them. "Speaking of, there's a bottle in my bag."

Jaskier digs around in the bag for a moment; Geralt can't. He's too busy trying not to come all over Jaskier's stomach. Maybe wearing the plug was a mistake.

The first touch of Jaskier's hand to his hole soothes something in Geralt. He's wanted this for so long now that the reality of it is like a balm. Again, Jaskier experiments, stroking his fingertips over and around the furled opening, dipping first one finger inside, then more. His fingers are slender, thinner than Geralt's, but they're longer, and he easily brushes against the spot inside of him that makes lightning crackle across his skin.

" _Jaskier_ ," he gasps, and Jaskier makes a soothing noise, strokes a hand up his side.

"Sit up for me, darling?"

 _Fuck_.

Geralt pushes himself to his knees and, when Jaskier puts a gentle hand onto his chest, moves back, further down the merman's tail. The look Jaskier gives him as he takes Geralt's hand and guides it to his slit is somehow both shy and cocksure. Both of it slides off his face quickly when Geralt coaxes his cock out, replaced with an almost drunken expression.

"Geralt," he whines, and the Witcher snatches up the bottle of oil.

Sinking down on Jaskier's cock is as close to a religious experience as Geralt thinks he's ever gotten. The phallus the mage made him is great, obviously, but it in no way compares to the real thing. Jaskier is making soft, desperate noises beneath him, and when Geralt has to stop, to let himself adjust, he whispers sweet encouragements, trembling hands on Geralt's hips.

He wants to take all of it, wants it _so much_ , but he has to admit defeat somewhere in the middle. He's shaking, breathless. He feels like he's coming apart at the seams. "I can't- Jask, I'm sorry, it's-"

"Sssh, don't fret," Jaskier says, and his voice shakes just as much as Geralt's did. "You're giving me something incredible," he murmurs, lacing their fingers together, and Geralt could cry.

The rest of it is simultaneously too much and too little. Geralt rocks his hips, and with a deep groan, starts fucking himself on Jaskier's cock. Time becomes meaningless, there's nothing but this cove and them, and the feeling of Jaskier inside of him.

He's not going to last long, he knows, and when he tells Jaskier as much, the merman gives him a slightly pained smile and says, "Nor I."

When Geralt comes, he pushes himself down as far onto Jaskier's cock as he can go. There are tears leaking down his face, and his heart is galloping in his chest. He collapses onto Jaskier's chest, shaking all over, and the merman winds his arms around him with a whimper.

"I'm sorry," he says, hands moving to Geralt's hips, and then he moves him, pulls him off his cock and back down again like a doll. "Geralt, I'm sorry, I just need-" He whines, and Geralt turns his head and kisses him.

His traitorous cock is already stirring again, and when Jaskier realises what's happening, he groans so deeply Geralt can feel it rumble against his chest.

The Witcher is too fucked out to participate much, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He keeps making those sinful noises as he uses Geralt to get himself off, and finally he whines, high and inhuman, and with a whispered, "Oh, oh, Geralt, love," he sinks his teeth into the meat of Geralt's shoulder and comes.

Geralt can feel it, can feel Jaskier's seed filling him, and before he knows it, his second orgasm crashes over him, leaving him gasping helplessly.

They stay like that for a long, long time, with Jaskier's fingers in his hair where he's cradled against his chest. Finally Geralt shifts, Jaskier's cock sliding out of him, and there's a rush of wetness with it.

"Fuck." Geralt groans as he rolls off of Jaskier, laying on the blanket beside him. He feels... full, in a way he's never felt before. " _Fuck_ ," he says again, one hand splayed over his stomach.

Jaskier rolls onto his side and lays his head on Geralt's shoulder. "Are you alright," he asks gently, uncertainly, and Geralt grabs his hand and squeezes.

"More than," he rasps, and Jaskier snuggles into his side more firmly.

After a while, the fullness starts to become uncomfortable, and Jaskier coaxes him into the water with him. "Just relax," he tells him gently, kissing him, and well. This is far from the most undignified thing Geralt has ever had to do in his long life.

They spend a couple of days like this, just being with each other, and otherwise fucking until one of them can't see straight any more, and when their time is finally up, it feels like Geralt has to leave a part of him behind.

"I wish I could come with you," Jaskier says, voice choked with tears where he has his face hidden against Geralt's throat.

"I'd like that," Geralt replies, voice hoarse with emotion, and when they kiss goodbye, the salt on his lips comes from Jaskier's tears, not his mouth.

Walking back to the village is miserable. Riding away on Roach is worse, and with every mile he puts between the cove and himself, Geralt curses Destiny more fervently. Why lead him to Jaskier, if they can't be together?

Then again, him not getting what he wants is nothing new in his life. He'll just have to take these few days that they're given and be content with them.

What other choice does he have?

* * *

The sixth year Geralt rides into the cove, Jaskier isn't there. Geralt tries to tell himself that the pang of disappointment that he feels in his stomach, sharp and bitter, is just hunger.

After staring at the rock for a couple of minutes, he sighs and turns Roach around, back onto the road to Tretogor. _Guess this adventure has run its course_ , he thinks as he leaves the cove behind, as he pretends that his heart isn't shattering into a million pieces in his chest.

He doesn't get far, though, before he hears the sound of running behind him, and then someone cries, "Geralt! _Wait_!"

It can't be.

Slowly, he turns around in the saddle. On the road behind him is a man, with a mop of chestnut brown hair and a lute strapped to his back, running towards him like there's a devil on his tail.

The man has bright blue eyes, and despite being out of breath, he's grinning happily.

Geralt turns Roach around, staring at the man in disbelief as he comes to a stop next to her, gasping for breath.

"I thought... I had... missed you, and I... would've been so... so _very_ cross with myself... if I had to wait... another year," he says, bent over and one hand on his knee as he tries to calm his heart and breathing.

Geralt slides off of Roach's back and takes him by the shoulders. The man goes willingly, straightening up with a grin, and Geralt stares some more. Finally, he says, " _Jaskier_?"

The man's smile wavers ever so slightly. "Yes?"

"How..." Geralt stares down at the man's legs, then back at his face. The smile starts slipping, and Geralt decides that he doesn't like that, at all. "It's you?"

Jaskier, for it's clear that it is Jaskier, has been the whole time really, nods tentatively. "Yes, dear heart, it's me."

Geralt winds his arm around him and pulls him closer, crushes him against his chest and buries his nose in that brown hair. "You smell different," he murmurs, and Jaskier chuckles, his hands fisted in Geralt's shirt.

"Not having a fish tail and swimming around in sea water all day will do that. Soaps are a marvelous invention, don't you think?"

He smells like lavender, Geralt thinks, his hair especially, and underneath that, _human_ , like sweat and road dust and adrenaline and lust, and he hugs him a little tighter before Jaskier taps his arm, pushing back ever so slightly, and Geralt releases him. He goes back to staring, and Jaskier shuffles his feet.

"Are you... angry?"

"No, Jaskier, no, I'm just... I didn't... You caught me off-guard, that's all." He takes Jaskier's hands and tugs him closer again. "How?"

Jaskier tosses his head, flipping his hair out of his eyes in that so familiar way. His eyes, Geralt notices, are still bright blue. Not as inhumanly bright anymore, but still striking. "Sea witch," he says almost dismissively, and at Geralt's incredulous look adds, "Friend of the family. Don't worry, I didn't have to promise her my first born or some nonsense like that." He chuckles and winds an arm around the Witcher's waist. "I think she was actually pretty glad to get me out of her ocean. I might have been a _bit_ love sick these last couple of years, driving everyone bonkers with my pining," and he looks up at Geralt with those blue, blue eyes, biting his lip.

Geralt crashes their mouths together, suddenly desperate. "I missed you," he groans between kisses, and Jaskier laughs, high and melodious, the only hint of his true nature. "So fucking much."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really," he says and crowds Jaskier back, against a scraggly tree, pushes a knee between his thighs as he kisses down his throat. Jaskier makes a wanton noise and buries his fingers in Geralt's hair.

"I missed you, too, my love, so much," and it takes Geralt a second to connect the words to the meaning.

" _Jaskier_ ," he growls, and Jaskier shivers all over.

"Yes, my love," he asks, all innocence, and Geralt shoves his knee higher, until Jaskier's feet barely touch the ground any more. "Oh, gods, _yes_ ," he gasps, fingers tightening in Geralt's hair, and when Geralt looks at him, he's smiling happily.

Geralt thought he knew what being in love felt like, back with Yennefer. Turns out, being in love and being truly loved in return is _vastly_ superior.

It takes no effort at all to heave Jaskier up onto Roach's back and climb up after him, cradling him against his chest as he directs her to the village. Jaskier isn't slight like this, still broad in the shoulders and muscles evident even through his clothes, but he fits perfectly into the vee of Geralt's thighs, can lean back and rest his head on Geralt's shoulder.

Jaskier tells him more about the transformation, winks saucily when he explains that he can turn back again whenever he feels like it.

"Took some wheedling to get the witch to agree, but she became amenable rather quickly when I threatened to stay down there and write some _horrible_ songs about her."

That's how he's been making his living these past weeks, turns out. Not with horrible songs, of course. As a traveling bard, sticking close to the coast, waiting for Geralt's return.

"Terribly romantic," Geralt says drily, and Jaskier swats him on the thigh.

"Oh, shush, don't pretend you don't love it. I shall have to write a song about it, you know? With a bit of artistic license, of course. The poor mermaid, in love with a handsome traveler," here Geralt snorts, and Jaskier pinches him, "destined to pine for him for the rest of their days, until the wicked sea witch curses them with legs and takes their voice away. Only true love's kiss will break the spell! _Haa_ ," he sighs dramatically, going boneless against Geralt's chest. "People will love it, I promise you."

"Come here," Geralt says, amused, and Jaskier tilts his head back for a kiss. "True love's kiss, huh?"

Jaskier hums, and somehow snuggles even closer. "I wouldn't just go along with anyone, you know?"

"Hm," Geralt says, and feels warm all over.

They get a room at the local inn, and Jaskier starts spluttering when he spots Anka in the common room, wiping down a table. Geralt elbows him in the ribs, and Jaskier presses his lips together into an awkward smile when she looks over at them.

The room is small but comfortable, and Jaskier sets his lute case down by the door. Geralt reels him in by the hand, and Jaskier sighs against his lips.

Undressing this new, human body soothes another ache Geralt hasn't acknowledged for the last year. He's the same but different, familiar but a stranger, and Geralt sinks to his knees before him, winds his arms around his waist and just breathes him in.

"You alright down there," Jaskier asks, running gentle fingers through Geralt's hair, and he grunts.

"Overwhelmed," he says at length, and Jaskier hums pleasantly.

"We have all the time in the world, my love," he says quietly, legs spreading a little wider to give Geralt more room.

When Geralt has pulled himself together again, he pushes Jaskier to lie back against the pillows. His chemise was discarded early on, and Geralt strokes his fingers through the hair on his chest. His nipples are a dark, dusky pink now, and when Geralt rolls one between thumb and finger, Jaskier arches and bites his lip.

"Geralt," he asks after a while of Geralt's explorations, and the Witcher looks up at him. His eyes are dark, barely any of the blue left, shining all the more vividly for it. "Do you... want to fuck me?"

There's a rushing in his ears, and he blinks a couple of times. "What kind of a question is that," he grunts finally, and he realises his mistake the second the words leave his lips. Jaskier's face falls, and he makes to roll away from him. Geralt all but throws himself on top of him, pinning him in place. "Jask, wait, I-" He growls. "Yes, _of course_ I want that, if you'll have me," he says, trying to put all his earnestness into his gaze. "I want you in any way that you'll let me."

Jaskier's frown softens, and he sniffles a little. "I just thought... I was afraid," he says softly, "that you wouldn't think me desirable any more, not like this."

Geralt isn't good with words, and so he kisses Jaskier, with all the desperation and longing he's felt over the years, and Jaskier melts against him.

The rest of their clothes come off then. Geralt lets his hands explore: the arch of Jaskier's feet, his calves and thighs, his pert arse. His cock, and here Jaskier throws back his head and gives a cry that sounds almost inhuman, and so Geralt does it again, wraps his fist around him and strokes, and Jaskier's nails dig hard into his shoulders.

"Please," he gasps, thrusts up into Geralt's hand, "please, _please_ , Geralt, please!"

Geralt takes his hand away, and Jaskier pounds his chest with his fists.

"Oh, you absolute _monster_ ," he gasps, trembling, and Geralt slots their mouths together and shuts him up.

He rolls Jaskier onto his stomach and works him open slowly, Jaskier mumbling an endless stream of praise and filth and his name (over and over and _over_ , fuck) into the sheets. By two fingers, Jaskier is babbling nonsensically, hands tight in his own hair.

"Please, Geralt, _now, please_ ," and Geralt groans and leans forward, rests his head between Jaskier's shoulder blades. Outside, the light is fading, and Geralt takes a shuddering breath.

"I'll hurt you," he groans.

"Never," comes the soft reply, and Geralt's resolve breaks.

He tries to go slow, to give Jaskier all the time he needs to adjust to his girth, but Jaskier seems to disagree with this plan. After a long moment spent trembling around the head of Geralt's cock, with his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, he makes a high, keening noise and then, before Geralt can stop him, he pushes his hips back all the way until Geralt is pressed flush against him.

Geralt curses and pushes him back down onto the mattress with a hand at the small of his back, and Jaskier whimpers. "Fuck, Jaskier, don't-"

" _Geralt_ ," Jaskier gasps, looks back at him over his shoulder, and smiles. " _Please_ ," he says, his voice breaking, and well.

The first thrust makes Jaskier's back arch, makes Geralt's teeth ache. He breathes, scents Jaskier at the back of his neck, looking for signs of discomfort, but all he finds is arousal and desperation, and so he decides, to hell with it. He snaps his hips, quicker, deeper, and Jaskier grips the headboard with white-knuckled hands, moans loud and unashamed into the mattress.

"Fuck, the _sounds_ you make," Geralt groans, fingertips digging sharply into Jaskier's hip.

"Geralt," is all Jaskier can reply, voice breaking, and the Witcher bends his head and sucks a bruise into his shoulder.

" _You're mine_ ," he growls, nips at the bruise, and Jaskier stiffens beneath him, tightens around his cock, and with another broken repetition of his name, he comes. Geralt lets himself go, lets himself take, fucking into Jaskier harder, faster, until he too tips over the edge, pushing himself as deep into him as he can go.

When his senses return to him, he realises he's crushing Jaskier beneath him, but when he tries to move off of him, Jaskier makes a noise of protest, and so he stays, settling his weight more onto his arms so he won't actually suffocate Jaskier.

At some point he is actually allowed to roll off of him. Jaskier wastes no time and crawls into his arms instead, huffing still too quick breaths against his chest.

"That was... _astonishing_. No wonder you liked it so much," he says playfully, and Geralt pinches his side with a huff of laughter.

Outside, the bonfires are roaring, and Geralt falls asleep curled around Jaskier.

The next morning dawns bright and early, although the village is quiet around them, the aftereffects of Beltane night evident when Geralt looks out of the window. There's not a soul to be seen except for some older children feeding livestock, and he twitches the flimsy curtain closed and lets Jaskier pull him back into bed.

Marek is downstairs when they take their leave, bleary-eyed and clearly a little hungover. Jaskier, the little shit, leans on the counter as Geralt digs around in his coin purse.

"You, my friend, look like absolute shit," he says jovially, and Marek scowls at him.

"It's Beltane morning, what do you expect?"

Jaskier shrugs. His chemise isn't buttoned all the way, showing off the marks Geralt left on his throat. "I've heard alcohol actually dampens the... _enjoyment_ of certain activities," he says lightly, and Geralt grabs him by the scruff of his doublet and pulls him away from Marek and his no doubt pounding head.

"Excuse the bard," he says, putting his payment down on the counter. "He doesn't know when to shut the hell up."

Jaskier adjusts his lute strap across his chest and gives Geralt a dazzling smile. "If I did, I wouldn't be a very good bard, now would I?"

They pick up Roach from the stable, and when Geralt puts his hands on Jaskier's waist to lift him up again, he waves him off. "I like walking," he says, sweetening the light rejection with a kiss. "I've been doing an awful lot of it ever since... You know."

"Alright," Geralt says, takes Roach's reins in one hand and leads them out of the village.

After a while, Jaskier pulls his lute to his front and strums absently. "So, my love, where to?"

"To Kaedwen," Geralt replies.

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really," he says, smiling lopsidedly, and Jaskier laughs.

His aimless strumming turns into a melody, one he hums along to, and when he starts singing quietly, obviously still figuring out the words, Geralt breathes, and listens.

_"When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song..."_

**Author's Note:**

> There's a couple of The Amazing Devil lyrics hidden in here. Cookie for you if you found them.
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09)!


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